


You need to stop eating that cake.

by EternityMaze



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen, Humor, L is gross and eats cake with his hands, Short One Shot, Watari has to be his dad, Young L
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternityMaze/pseuds/EternityMaze
Summary: Looking after young geniuses had never been quite as tasking as it had become of late. Presumably, the sole reason for this development was that now – instead of looking after a handful exceptionally gifted children along with a team of capable adults in a well run orphanage in Winchester; Quillish Wammy was the sole caretaker of a particularly eccentric young lad who barely had the common sense to brush his own teeth or even sleep in an actual bed.





	You need to stop eating that cake.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very short fic intended to be humorous, made for my Death Notecember over on tumblr.   
> Hopefully it's still enjoyable despite being generally silly.

Looking after young geniuses had never been quite as tasking as it had become of late. Presumably, the sole reason for this development was that now – instead of looking after a handful exceptionally gifted children along with a team of capable adults in a well run orphanage in Winchester; Quillish Wammy was the sole caretaker of a particularly eccentric young lad who barely had the common sense to brush his own teeth or even sleep in an actual bed. Not that the boy lacked anything in the form of intellect – Quite on the contrary, he was inarguably the brightest child to have graced the earth in centuries. More specifically, he was frighteningly capable in the field of deduction. On the ground of this, the boy had – with Wammy's assistance and guidance, risen to stand amongst the world's most respected detectives, and was still not old enough to vote or consume alcohol in the company of a guardian. He was – in every sense, still but a child.

 

That was the same very brilliant child who was now in the griveous process of devouring an entire vanilla sponge cake with his bare hands. Hunched over in a chair at least four sizes too big for an average adult, cake on his knees, in front of a flurry of case files laid haphazardly across the coffee table; there he sat as if nothing he was doing was out of the ordinary. Not for this boy, at least. It should come as no surprise, by now Wammy had certainly learned that no sweets could be kept away from this child, even if they were not meant for just him or for this very day. If that boy felt a craving for sweets and no one was around to fetch something appropriate the very moment he needed it, he would find his own way into the pantry and snatch whatever seemed most appetizing.

 

Wammy himself was the most patient with him, the only one the child seemed to trust, and as such it was no wonder he had come to be his handler, and – for the lack of a more appropriate term, caretaker. He took care of his official business, represented him in gatherings in which his presence was needed, and when the public was of no concern he took care of absolutely everything else in his life. Kept him fed, washed his clothes, helped him dress, wash, brush his hair if he was in a good enough mood to allow anything near his greasy mess of sticky black locks, absolutely everything. It was tasking, to say the least. Yet, Wammy had never had children of his own. His life had been built upon his own intellectual capabilities, his inventions, his well hidden secrets, and within those strictly specific confines there had been no room for a family. Perhaps that was why he had decided somewhere along the line to provide a home for gifted children whose parents unfortunately were no longer around. No one could truly know aside from the elusive persona himself. Regardless of his initial reasonings, somewhere down the path of these recent years in the company of the young prodigy, he had come to see this boy as the closest thing to a son he would ever have. A son who was now fist deep in sponge cake.

 

Reluctantly, and with an unmistakable urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to gather strength for the upcoming battle of stubbornness, Wammy approached his cake consuming ward. A firm hand was placed atop the oversized chair, the old man leaning over it in an attempt to draw the boy's attention, despite knowing fully well that the boy must already know of his presence. Nothing escaped his observations after all.

 

“L, if you would allow me to interrupt you for a moment so that I may draw your attention to the cake on your lap.” He started out, careful and precise, straight to the point.  
The boy didn't even look up, shoveling another handful of vanilla icing into his already sticky maw. This would definitely call for a very long bath once these proceedings were over and done with.  
“Go ahead, Watari. I have already noted that it is quite tasty, if that is what concerns you.” The young L replied with unmistakable nonchalance, keeping his eyes plastered to the files in front of him. No, the tastiness of the bake was not of Wammy's concern. It was clear that he had only pointed that out to be exceedingly difficult.

 

“I am glad it is to your liking. However, that cake was intended for the other children as well. As you can see, it is in no state to be served anymore.” The old man continued, voice remaining firm but not quite on the edge of berating.  
“Then there should be no reason for me not to finish it.” The boy sucked the icing off his fingers and leaned over the now unsightly cake to move a file aside so that he may look at the one beneath it. In the name of all that was holy, Wammy hoped this child would grow to appreciate the blessings of cutlery and neat eating one day. Please, let it be so.

 

“That would be inadvisable. I know you are fond of your sweets, L, but there is a limit to how much cake a boy of your age can eat before he is struck with a crippling stomach ache.” He coated his displeasure in concern, in the vague hope that the threat of not being able to work on his case anymore would turn the messy child away from his decision to singlehandedly ingest a cake intended for an entire orphanage. Perhaps it was a good idea to keep him separated from the rest of the orphanage more often than not.  
“I have yet to calculate where that limit lies with me. I would like to return to my work now.” That was his attempt to shut down the conversation entirely. This boy had made up his mind about the cake situation and for all he cared, his caretaker could not separate him from his treat.

 

How unfortunate for him then that Wammy had decided he was not going to eat that entire cake, and that he was not allowed to put his sticky cake fingers all over the case files and the furniture, or sit around in a shirt stained with vanilla icing. Today was one of those days when Wammy had to be more dad than coworker. Carefully, but still with the uncanny precision of a trained cake burglar, Wammy snatched the tray holding the vanilla spongecake from right off the lad's lap, placing it securely onto the table. This was what finally drew L's glance up to his caretaker, dark unblinking saucers that had clearly not followed Wammy's advice to sleep for the past 48 hours. A mental note to be more strict on sleep schedules was thusly taken.

 

Before the audible protests could even be made, Wammy calmly took the boy by his ear and made him get out of the chair. It was in no way harsh, his did not intent to cause any harm after all, but the gesture should get it across that he was very serious right now.  
“Young man, you need to stop eating that cake. Furthermore, you will wash those hands and change that shirt before you touch anything else work related. May I suggest a spoon for the next time you decide to test the limits of your sweet tooth?” With that, the now very grumpy but complacent mini detective followed suit after his strict caretaker to do as he was told. No one understood him, and the world was unfair, but perhaps he should consider not eating cake with his hands again after this. Continuously getting in trouble for something this petty seemed like too much of a hassle.

 


End file.
